Purim Gifts
by IrenaAdler
Summary: Three short fics and three art-fics created for the LiveJournal challenge purimgifts. Purim is a festive Jewish holiday. Sixth, Nena has an assignment to frame and write about a family photo.
1. Fic: Daughter

**Note**: Purim is the most festive of Jewish holidays, a time of prizes, noisemakers, costumes, drinking and treats. It commemorates a victory over oppression as told in the story of Esther.

* * *

**Daughter: Purim Generations 1/3**

"Mom," 21-year-old Margaret Mann groaned. "I'm too old for Purim!"

"Too old to give gifts or charity?" her mother responded mildly, folding the triangular _Hamantaschen_ cookies. 

"No, but the costumes and the noisemakers and … It's all in support of a patriarchical, oppressive religion, anyway." The words were out of her mouth before she remembered that she was in her mother's kitchen, not at a protest meeting. She folded her arms and lifted her chin.

Her mother paused, then very slowly finished the cookie she was folding. Her motions were steady but her voice hard as she asked, "Is that what they teach in college these days, to disparage the beliefs of your family, beliefs that have supported us through terrible times?"

"No," Margaret snapped, "Just to think for yourself."

"Then you should appreciate the story of Esther."

"Where a woman's value is dependant entirely on her physical attractiveness and ability to get men to fall under her sexual wiles?"

Her mother turned around, her mouth pursed. She brushed the flour from her hands. "I don't know what you're learning at college, but it's obviously crowding out everything you were taught as a child. You know that's not what Esther's story is about!"

Margaret groaned again and threw herself in a chair. She didn't really want to get into this debate with her mother right now. Normally she was up for, even excited about, debates on feminism and religion, but she was home for just a few days and had been looking forward to some happy, relaxed hominess.

"I know, Mom," Margaret said. "I'm just … I'm just tired, okay?"

Her mother raised her eyebrows. "Are you staying up all night at those parties of yours?"

"They're not parties, Mom. Okay, well, _some_ are parties, but most of the time we're planning and organizing."

"Planning what?" 

"Revolution, change, making things better."

"Then you should feel right at home with the story of Esther."

Margaret grimaced and pushed back her hair. "Maybe I could just not dress up this year?"

"Of course, dear," her mother said in that long-suffering tone of voice that drove Margaret crazy.

Margaret eyed her mother and decided that now was as good a time as any to bring up another subject. "I'm thinking of changing my major."

"But you love music!" Her mother looked genuinely upset and Margaret tried – and failed – to not feel guilty.

"Maybe a double major," Margaret said quickly, "though it will mean probably another year at college."

"Double with what?"

"Pre-Law," Margaret said then waited anxiously for her mother's response.

To her delight, her mother nodded slowly. "I think you'd have a good mind for law. And do what with it?"

"I'd go on to law school. I'd like to focus on civil rights and tenants' rights."

"Admirable, dear, but what about your musical career?"

"Oh, I can do that, too," Margaret said confidently. "In fact, Professor Tisdale wants me to prepare something for a solo concert."

"That would be lovely, but what about a family? Can you do law, music, _and_ a family?"

Margaret grumbled under her breath. She'd wondered when her mother would get to this topic. "I'm a little young to start a family, Mom."

"Too old for Purim, too young for a family? Exactly what age is that?"

"Look," Margaret said, trying to sound calm. "I know that you got married young and had kids but things are different now."

"Oh, really?" her mother snapped. "Don't you dare think of getting pregnant without getting married, young woman." 

"Maybe I don't want kids at all?"

Her mother stared at her in horror. "No kids?"

"It's just a thought," Margaret backpedaled quickly. "An option. I'm not saying that's what's going to happen."

"I certainly hope not! A daughter of mine, throwing away family …"

"I'm not throwing away—" Margaret took a deep breath and employed a tactic that worked well at meetings – diversion.

"There's a guy," she said. "That I like but he won't ask me out."

Her mother's face softened and Margaret could almost hear the thinking that the right man would make her see the light about children.

Her mother sat down at the kitchen table and took her hand. "Why won't he ask you out, dear?" 

"He's kind of shy," Margaret said, picturing Alan Eppes at the back of a crowd. "But he's very nice. An Engineering major."

"That's good," her mother said and Margaret smiled as her mother put Alan in the category of 'good provider'."

"His name's Alan Eppes."

"Eppes, not Epstein?"

"Yeah, but I know he's Jewish," Margaret said, though it was just a guess on her part.

"What do you know about his family?"

"Not much," Margaret hedged. "But he grew up in LA. I haven't gotten the chance to talk much to him otherwise."

"Well, then," her mother said briskly, "What's the use of this 'new thinking' if it doesn't mean that a girl can ask a guy out?"

Margaret laughed in surprise. "Mom!"

"Do you think I waited around for your father?" Her mother smiled. "I'd still be waiting!"

"Really?" Margaret gasped, trying to picture her mother as a forward young woman.

Her mother chuckled. "There are many ways to ask a boy out without actually doing the asking, and making the boy think it was all his idea."

"Mom," Margaret laughed again. "I've got to hear this story."

"Perhaps," her mother teased and stood up. "Now, help me finish these cookies. No Epstein is going to be interested in a woman who can't bake."

"Eppes, Mom, not Epstein."

"Probably just shortened," her mother said dismissively. "I wonder if he's related to Mary Epstein."

Margaret shook her head and joined her mother at the kitchen counter. Maybe she'd have to figure out a way to get Alan to ask her out. Wait, weren't they both in Professor Stevenson's math classes? She could ask him to tutor her in math. Might as well make use of the class. It wasn't like math was going to have anything to do with the rest of her life.


	2. Art: Margarets Note

Purimgifts was an anon fic and art gift exchange, where each participant produced three shortie fics and three pieces of art. I had a huge amount of fun making my graphics. They're almost like little fics. They certainly took longer than the actual fics!

**Title:** Margaret's Note to Alan  
**Summmary:** Margaret gives Alan a picture and a friendly warning.  
**Rating:** G

To see the graphic, go here (remove spaces from URL)

-- **http : / / tinyurl . com / 2n6khb**


	3. Fic: Mother

**Note**: Purim is the most festive of Jewish holidays, a time of prizes, noisemakers, costumes, drinking and treats. It commemorates a victory over oppression as told in the story of Esther.

* * *

**Mother: Purim Generations 2/3—**

"Donnie, the _Purim_ baskets are ready to go," Margaret called.

Seventeen-year-old Don didn't look up from the sports section of the newspaper. Margaret walked over to where her oldest son was sprawled across the family room floor and nudged him with her foot.

"Baskets are ready," she said.

"Make Charlie do it," Don grumbled.

"_Both_ of you need to do it," Margaret responded. "It's our family to theirs."

When Don still didn't look up, Margaret sighed and crouched down next to him. "Honey, this is the last time we can have _Purim_ as a family, since your brother and I will be gone next year."

Don's shoulders hunched, demonstrating again what he thought about his mother and little brother going off to college together.

"You'll be too busy to miss us," Margaret said, with more hope than certainty. "With school and baseball …"

"Okay, fine," Don snapped, suddenly sitting up. "Where are the baskets?"

"In the kitchen, with the masks."

"Mom, masks are for little kids! I can't go walking down the street in some purple sparkly mask!"

"If you don't want to be recognized by your friends, wear your father's bathrobe."

"Yeah, that's tons better," Don sneered.

Margaret's eyebrows shot up, tired of Don's surliness since she'd decided to go with Charlie to Princeton. "Donald Eppes! Get your brother and get moving. Now."

Don said something under his breath.

"What was that, young man?" she snapped. "You might think you're all grown up but you're still part of this family and I'm still your mother."

Don grimaced and, without another word, got up and went into the kitchen. Margaret watched him go, seeing the lines of anger still in his posture. She'd tried reasoning with him, explaining why she needed to go to Princeton, but knew that Don still saw it as yet another situation where his genius brother 'won' and he 'lost'. Not for the first time, Margaret wished that Charlie didn't require so much time and attention. When she hadn't been watching, when she'd been distracted by Charlie's needs, her other son had grown up independent but resentful.

She sighed again, feeling tired and torn.

"Are the baskets ready yet?" came a voice from the top of the stairs.

Margaret looked up to see her younger son, leaning precariously down the stairs, an eager smile on his face. As usual, the sight of Charlie banished any doubts she had about the lengths she and Alan had gone for him, would continue to go for him. He had such special energy that he practically shone with it, lighting the world around him.

"They're ready," she answered. "Get your Dad's bathrobe and mine and bring them down."

"Okay!" Charlie disappeared briefly, then came bounding down the stairs, dragging the bathrobes behind him.

"You'll wear mine," Margaret said.

It was a testament to how much Charlie had been looking forward to this that he didn't even hesitate to pull Margaret's yellow flowered bathrobe on over her his T-shirt and jeans. Margaret followed him into the kitchen.

Don laughed out loud when he saw Charlie's outfit, but before Charlie could get upset, Don slipped the purple feathered Mardi Gras mask on and made a face.

Charlie laughed back and handed Don Alan's thick navy bathrobe. Don pulled it on while Charlie put on a blue feathered Mardi Gras mask.

Don then surveyed the four baskets on the counter through his mask. Margaret hid a smile, knowing that Don was analyzing the baskets to make sure that they fulfilled the two _mitzvoth_ of the holiday – two different, ready-made foods to one friend, and two charitable donations to two poor people. She'd added the fourth basket and could see Don figuring out who it was for before checking the card to make sure. She was glad to see his brain was still functioning under all that surliness. She'd tried many times, over the years, to point out to Don how intelligent and creative he was, but he would never believe it, not with Charlie for comparison.

"Do you still have that wagon?" Don asked Charlie.

Charlie nodded and rushed off to get it. When he brought it back, Margaret helped Don load the four full baskets into it. Each basket was decorated with ribbons and contained nuts, cookies, cheese and some fresh-baked _challah_. One the baskets were settles, Don took the handle of the wagon and pulled it towards the front door.

At the front door, they paused to look back at Margaret. She dearly wanted to take a picture of them, but didn't want to make them self-conscious by getting the camera.

"Don't dawdle too much," she said. "Dinner's soon."

"_Hamantaschen_!" Charlie said, smacking his lips.

"Can I have wine this time?" Don asked then added quickly. "I mean, not enough to get drunk or anything. Just some."

Margaret opened her mouth to tell him he was still too young, but changed her mind. She wouldn't be around when Don actually turned eighteen.

"Sure, honey," she said, smiling at him standing there, his father's bathrobe dwarfing his still thin frame, intense dark eyes shining through the purple party mask. He probably wasn't even conscious that he'd let Charlie take his hand. The picture that they made together made Margaret's throat tighten. She held her smile even when tears came to her eyes. "After all, you're almost all grown up."


	4. Art: Dons Baseball Accident and Apology

Purimgifts was an anon fic and art gift exchange, where each participant produced three shortie fics and three pieces of art. I had a huge amount of fun making my graphics. They're almost like little fics. They certainly took longer than the actual fics!

**Title:** Don's Baseball Accident and Apology

**Summmary:** Young Don has a unique take on an apology.

**Rating:** G

**Note:** The picture is of JoBeth Williams, the actress who played Margaret, at about the right age.

To see the graphic, go here (remove spaces from URL)

-- **http : / / tinyurl . com / 32pzvx**


	5. Fic: Grandmother

**Note**: Purim is the most festive of Jewish holidays, a time of prizes, noisemakers, costumes, drinking and treats. It commemorates a victory over oppression as told in the story of Esther.

**Grandmother: Purim Generations 3/3—**

"Then you take this side and fold it over so it makes a triangle, see?" Don demonstrated how to fold a _hamentaschen_ cookie while Nena watched closely. "You tuck the corner of the last fold into the first fold, so that it doesn't open up while you're cooking it. Kind of like a pinwheel."

"How dju learn dat?" Nena asked. She had flour on her cheeks and a smear of poppy-seed filling at the corner of her mouth.

"Grandma Mann taught me," Don answered with a smile. He remembered his grandmother's old but steady fingers helping his little pudgy ones to make the correct fold.

"Grannma Mar'gret?"

"No, my grandmother, my mom's mom."

Nena frowned. "Grannmas has grannmas?"

"My grandmother would be your _great_-grandmother."

"She wuz great?"

Don chuckled. "Yes, yes, she was. She taught me how to bake."

"Not Grannma Mar'gret?"

"No," Don smiled. Grandma Mann had never thought her daughter's baking skills were good enough and had tried jumping to the next generation. Don liked to think that he'd made her proud, but it had always been hard to tell with her.

"I've got it!" Charlie said, coming into the kitchen, waving a piece of paper. "The ideal circumference for a _hamentaschen_ cookie! It takes into account desired filling to dough ratios, rolling-out thickness, ideal flap depth, total dough and filling usage so there isn't any left over of either—"

"Charlie," Don said, shaking his head. "We've already finished making the cookies." He pointed to two baking sheets full of completed cookies.

"Oh," Charlie said, his shoulders sagging in disappointment.

"We kin make more, right Unka Don?" Nena said.

Don shrugged – both answering her question and loosening up tight shoulders. "But let's make another kind."

"Another kind?" Charlie asked, looking almost shocked. "There's only one kind of _hamentaschen_."

"No," Don laughed. "Mom always made the poppy seed ones, but Grandma Mann would make apricot, prune, even nuts, cream cheese or chocolate."

"Really?" Charlie said. "Those sound good, but are you sure they're traditional?"

Don brushed the flour from his hands and went over to Charlie. He squeezed Charlie's shoulder and said quietly, "I know you're trying to show Nena traditional Jewish holidays, but you've got to ease up a little bit. You want her to think of these holidays as fun, right?"

Charlie nodded slowly.

"Then don't worry as much about getting things perfect. Nena knows when you're stressed and she gets stressed."

Charlie grimaced. "I just … I just want her to know her heritage, even if it's an adopted heritage."

"Her heritage is love and fun and family," Don said firmly. "Anything else is extra."

Charlie gave Don a wry smile. "You're probably right."

"You know I am, Chuck," Don grinned.

"Well, _Donald_, you need to decide what filling or fillings you are going to make, because I need to revise my calculations. I'll need total weight, consistency, sweetness quotient …"

Don rolled his eyes. "I thought we just agreed you weren't going to stress about these holidays."

"Who's stressing?" Charlie said. "This _is_ the fun part."

Don rolled his eyes again and turned back to Nena. "What do you think, shall we make apricot?"

"Choc'let!" she replied.

"Of course," Don grumbled.

"An' nuts 'n cweam cheez."

"All together?"

"Yeah! 'N choco chips, but put duh choco chips in duh dough part."

Don tilted his head to the side. "That _does_ sound good."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed and Nena beamed.

"We'll need all new calculations if we change the dough, too," Don said to Charlie. "Are you up to it?"

"Sure!" Charlie said, his eyes lighting up. "Chocolate chip density should make things quite complicated."

Don smiled and shook his head. As Charlie started mumbling to himself about mixed solids distribution, Don shared a knowing look with his niece. Charlie was lost to Math World.

"We'll have to keep track of our recipe," Don said to Nena, picking up his grandmother's worn recipe card. "If it works, we'll want to be able to duplicate it."

"'f corse!" Nena said. "No ecks'speirmint iz valid if it can'nt be dup'cated."

"You're your father's daughter alright," Don chuckled, opening up the flour canister. He smiled at the blonde, green-eyed little girl and thought about his dark-haired, dark-eyed grandmother. They may not share genes or appearance, but there was a look in Nena's eyes that reminded him very much of his grandmother when she was baking. In fact, it reminded him of Charlie when he was on the trail of an exciting math equation. If personality traits could be passed through love, chalkboards and recipe cards, Nena was going to be one special girl.

"Unka Don, I depyutize you tuh take notes!"

In fact, she already was.


	6. Art: Nenas Homework Assignment

I just discovered that I forgot to post the last piece here!

Purimgifts was an anon fic and art gift exchange, where each participant produced three shortie fics and three pieces of art. I had a huge amount of fun making my graphics. They're almost like little fics. They certainly took longer than the actual fics!

**Title: **Nena's Homework Assignment

**Summmary: **Nena has an assignment to frame and write about a family photo.

**Rating: **G

**Note: **The picture is of JoBeth Williams, the actress who played Margaret, at about the right age.

To see the graphic, go here (remove spaces from URL)

-- **http : / / tinyurl . com / 5n6q5y**


End file.
